Chapter Text
The hallway outside Mr. Kressely’s third-period history class was buzzing with the usual half-asleep tension of mid-morning high school. Students slouched against lockers, slung backpacks onto one shoulder with theatrical groans, and shuffled through the tight corridor with that curious blend of boredom and teenage chaos.
But down at the far end of the hall, wedged between a rusting radiator and the outdated poster for prom, two girls had carved out a quiet little corner of rebellion.
Suzie Toot, in her plaid pleated skirt and vintage T-strap heels, leaned dramatically against the cool metal of the lockers like she was waiting for a cue on the set of a broadway show. She twirled a sharpened pencil between her fingers like it was a cigarette, her coppery-red curls pinned back with a rhinestone clip shaped like a feather, lips painted a glossy cherry.
Next to her sat Lydia B. Kollins, hunched over with her knees pulled up, sleeves tugged down over her hands. Her makeup was thick and smudged in that precise way that looked like she’d been crying in the bathroom, even though she hadn’t, and her inky black hair was was that had no structure or hope. Her long black cargo pants puddled around her combat boots, and the faded Misfits hoodie she wore was two sizes too big.
Suzie looked like a time-traveling flapper girl who’d wandered into a this, and Lydia looked like she hadn’t spoken to another human being willingly in six days.
But together?
They made a weird kind of sense.
“You know you’re getting mascara on your cheek again,” Suzie said, casually flicking Lydia’s sleeve with the tip of her pencil. “Gives you that sexy, post-breakdown aesthetic.“
Lydia didn’t even look up from the dark doodles she was etching into the front cover of her tattered history notebook.
“I’m going for leave me the hell alone, actually.”
“Chic,” Suzie grinned. “I’d kill for your eye shape. Do you know how hard I have to work to get my liner even? You just wake up looking like a moody Renaissance painting.”
“Your eyeliner is perfect and you know it,” Lydia muttered, finally glancing at her.
“And your lipstick hasn't moved in three hours, which is suspicious. I think you’re a witch.”
Lydia snorted, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie.
There was a moment of silence, comfortable, the way it always was between them, before Suzie leaned in, her voice low.
“So. Are we still pretending you don’t have a crush on Kori King?”
Lydia’s head shot up so fast her bun listed to one side.
“I do not!”
Suzie gave her a pointed look, arching a penciled-in brow with theatrical flair.
“Mm-hmm. Sure. You just happen to stare at her like she’s the only functional fire escape during an earthquake. Totally casual.”
“I don’t stare.”
“You stare with the longing of a Victorian widow gazing at the sea.”
“I will shove you into a locker,” Lydia muttered, though her ears had turned pink.
Suzie chuckled, patting her arm affectionately. “You’re so defensive. It’s adorable.”
“She’s literally the most popular girl in school,” Lydia muttered, voice suddenly much quieter. “And have you seen her friends? They walk around like they own the place.”
“Because they do,” Suzie said, unapologetically. “But Kori? She’s not like them. Not really.”
Lydia didn’t respond right away. She just picked at a frayed thread on her hoodie, lips pressed into a thin line.
Suzie tilted her head. “You know, you can admit it to me. I’m your best friend, not your therapist.”
There was a pause.
And then Lydia, without looking up, muttered under her breath, “…I like her stupid hair.”
Suzie beamed like she’d just won the Tony. “Progress!” she whispered, clapping her hands. “Soon you’ll be writing sonnets about her stupid hair.”
“It’s not even that great,” Lydia grumbled, cheeks burning. “It’s just, it’s so blonde. And shiny. Like a Barbie, but if Barbie was cool and could kick someone’s ass.”
“Very eloquent. Shakespeare weeps.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful,” Suzie corrected. “And supportive. And also taking bets on how long it’ll take before you spontaneously combust next time she talks to you.”
“She doesn’t talk to me,” Lydia said flatly.
Suzie wiggled her eyebrows. “Not yet.”
Lydia groaned and let her head fall against the locker behind her. “Kill me now.”
Suzie grinned, nudging her with her shoe. “Too late. We’ve got Kressely in five minutes. Death would be too merciful.”
The hallway around them continued to buzz, students moving, lockers slamming, Crystal’s laugh echoing from down the corridor, probably at something Kori just said.
But Lydia stayed slumped there in her corner, trying not to look up, not to care, not to let that name, the name, echo in her head.
Kori King.
Suzie sighed beside her, softer this time.
“You know,” she said gently, “maybe she’s not as out of reach as you think.”
Lydia didn’t respond.
But she did look up.
Just for a second.
And across the hall, standing tall with sunlight streaking through her blonde hair and a half-laugh tugging at her lips, Kori King caught her looking.
And for the first time ever, she smiled.
Lydia’s heart nearly stopped.
Suzie, beside her, whispered like she’d just watched a prophecy unfold “Well, damn.”
The shriek of the old school bell echoed down the hallway like it was personally offended that students were taking their sweet time getting to class. Mr. Kressely’s door groaned on its rusted hinges as the class trickled in, students dropping into their seats with varying degrees of grace, reluctance, and sleep deprivation.
Suzie strolled in with her usual vintage swagger, swinging her cloth-bound notebook under her arm like she’d just walked off a 1940s newsreel. Lydia trailed behind her, hoodie sleeves tucked over her hands, head ducked, trying to be invisible beneath her tangled hair and heavy eyeliner.
They took their usual spot: far-left corner, back row.
Lydia slouched into her seat, pulling her oversized sleeves down over her knuckles like armor. Suzie sat with much more flourish, crossing her legs and adjusting the small feathered brooch on her collar before pulling out a bright red pen and scribbling today’s date at the top of her paper with an unnecessary flourish.
From the front of the room, Mr. Kressely clapped his hands once, as though trying to wake up both the class and himself. His coffee mug, ancient, cracked, and bearing the faded slogan ‘History: It’s Just One Damn Thing After Another’, thudded down on his desk.
“Alright, class!” he said, voice already straining against the early stirrings of classroom apathy. “Listen up. And by ‘listen,’ I mean actually hear the words I’m saying and not just make direct eye contact while daydreaming about that new Spider-Man movie. You know who you are.”
Several students chuckled. One snorted.
Kori King entered just as he finished the sentence, the door swinging shut behind her with a satisfying click. She wore a pink sweater over a white T-shirt, one of her sleeves pushed up in that absentmindedly cool way that looked almost staged, except nothing about Kori ever seemed staged. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder like a shampoo commercial and slid into her seat halfway down the row, flashing an apologetic grin to Mr. Kressely.
“Sorry,” she said. “I had to help Coach Martinez carry volleyballs.”
From the corner, Lydia sank lower in her seat, fingers twitching around the cap of her pen. Suzie gave her a sidelong glance so pointed, it could’ve pierced chainmail.
Mr. Kressely cleared his throat.
“Back to business, historians,” he said, pacing the front of the classroom in that way that teachers do when they’re gearing up to ruin your week. “We’re about to start a project. A big one. A project that is going to count for” he paused, turning to scrawl dramatically on the whiteboard “twenty-five percent of your semester grade.”
A collective groan swept the room. Someone in the back muttered, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Mr. Kressely held up his hands like Moses parting the Red Sea. “Now, now. Don’t panic. Yet.”
Suzie sat up straighter, her interest visibly piqued. “Ooooh, a challenge.”
Lydia gave her a look. “You say that now. Just wait till we’re stuck building a diorama of the French Revolution using papier-mâché and a single glue stick.”
Mr. Kressely turned around, marker in hand, and began to write again on the board: PROJECT: A Historical Deep Dive into a Lesser-Known Event, Figure, or Movement.
He underlined it twice for dramatic effect.
“This,” he said, gesturing broadly at the board, “is your assignment. You are going to research a lesser-known moment, person, or movement from world history. Something overlooked. Something hidden. Something, forgotten.” He paused, letting the words settle like they were supposed to be mystical, though he accidentally sniffled in the silence and sort of ruined the mood. “You’ll choose a topic,” he continued, “submit it for approval, and then present your findings in a way that captures both the historical context and the human emotion behind it.”
Suzie leaned toward Lydia and whispered, “You just know he practiced that sentence in the mirror this morning.”
Lydia covered her laugh with a cough.
“Presentations will be due four weeks from today,” Mr. Kressely said, holding up four fingers like a peace sign gone rogue. “But you’ll need time. Research. Creativity. The kind of academic stamina that separates the A-students from the Wikipedia-users.”
A few guilty snickers rippled through the room.
“And here’s the best part,” he added, glancing around with a faint smile. “You won’t be doing it alone. This will be a partner project.”
Lydia blinked, heart skipping a beat. Partner project?
Suzie leaned closer. “Don’t look now,” she whispered, “but I bet we’re paired together. We’re the moody theater girl and the artistic cryptid. It’s like fate.”
Lydia let out a small sigh of relief. Suzie was safe. Suzie she could handle. Suzie didn’t make her heartbeat go haywire just by flipping her hair. Suzie didn’t-
“—I will be announcing the pairs tomorrow,” Mr. Kressely said, and just like that, Lydia’s stomach plummeted. “You will not pick your own. Life doesn’t let you choose your teammates, people. Get used to it.”
Suzie slowly turned toward Lydia, eyes wide. “Oh. Oh, that’s evil.”
Lydia swallowed hard.
Random partners.
Anyone.
What if she got paired with someone awful? Some Instagram-obsessed senior who’d make her do all the work while they flounced off to update their story?
Or worse, what if she got Kori?
The idea alone made her ears go hot and her brain momentarily short-circuit.
“Tomorrow, I’ll reveal the partners,” Mr. Kressely repeated as he capped his marker. “You’ll brainstorm your topic together, begin research next week, and then build your presentations. Visual aids are required. Creativity is encouraged. Bonus points for costumes.”
Kori chuckled, low and amused, and Lydia’s heart gave a traitorous flutter at the sound.
“Until then,” Kressely concluded, “start mentally preparing yourselves for teamwork. It's a cruel and fickle thing.”
The bell rang a moment later, loud and abrupt, cutting through the tension like a guillotine.
Students stood, groaned, and shuffled toward the door, conversations beginning to bubble up around the announcement.
Suzie stood too, clutching her books to her chest like a hopeful ingénue. “You ready for whatever war Kressely is about to throw us into tomorrow?”
Lydia hesitated, eyes flicking toward Kori.
The blonde was laughing at something Crystal said, bright and effortless and so stupidly beautiful that Lydia had to look away.
“I think,” Lydia murmured, dragging her feet as they made for the door, “I’m in trouble.”
Suzie’s lips curled into a grin that could only be described as too knowing. “Sweetheart,” she said, looping her arm through Lydia’s, “you’ve been in trouble since day one.”
It was a cloudy Thursday morning, the kind where the sky looked like it had pulled a grey wool blanket over itself and decided to stay in bed. The classroom lights felt too yellow, too artificial against the gloom outside, casting long shadows on half-finished posters and dusty textbooks. Mr. Kressely’s classroom smelled faintly of chalk, coffee, and the ghost of old paper, a scent Suzie claimed was “the perfume of academia.”
Students filtered in with the lethargy of people who knew they were about to be emotionally compromised. Several had brought snacks, others clung to energy drinks like holy relics. There was a buzz in the air, not excitement, not dread, but that murky space in between. That weird sort of hush right before a coin is flipped.
Lydia slid into her seat at the back corner without a word, hoodie sleeves already pushed over her hands like always. Her head was down, dark lashes shadowing her cheeks as she pulled a notebook from her bag, flipping it open to a blank page.
Suzie dropped into her seat beside her, less vintage today but still wholly her, in a high-waisted tweed skirt and a maroon blouse with a pointed collar. She waggled her brows dramatically.
“You ready for Partner Roulette, darling?” she whispered.
Lydia gave a faint grunt, tugging the cord of her earbuds out of the way. “No. I am in fact dreading it with every fiber of my fragile soul.”
Suzie scoffed. “You’re not fragile, you’re just dramatic. And if I get stuck with that kid who talks with his mouth full, I will transfer to a monastery.”
Lydia snorted softly, curling into herself as if to hide the sound.
They fell into an easy silence, that kind of calm between best friends who didn’t always need to talk. Lydia’s pen tapped against the corner of her paper. She traced faint outlines of spirals, tiny stars, shadowed wings. Anything to distract herself from the static humming in her chest.
She wanted to be paired with Suzie. It was the obvious choice. The safe one. They had worked together since freshman year, surviving science fairs, mock trials, and the horror of a group art presentation in which neither of them had actually known how to sculpt. They understood each other’s rhythms: how Lydia needed a little quiet before starting, how Suzie liked to brainstorm aloud while pacing like a film noir detective.
More than that, Suzie wouldn’t make her nervous.
Suzie didn’t make her forget what day it was just by brushing her hair back.
Suzie didn’t have the kind of smile that turned your stomach inside out.
Suzie Toot wasn’t Kori King.
And Lydia was increasingly aware of how very much she thought about Kori King lately. Too much. Stupidly much. It was becoming a problem. An unmanageable, fluttery, impossible to talk about without blushing kind of problem.
Across the room, Kori walked in, once again just a little after the bell. She wore a soft blue windbreaker zipped halfway up and had a black hair tie on her wrist.
Her backpack was slung casually over one shoulder. She gave Mr. Kressely a friendly nod and sauntered toward her seat with that easy, unbothered confidence that made Lydia want to crawl under the linoleum.
Crystal and Onya were already seated, giggling about something in the pages of Crystal’s glossy magazine. Kori leaned down to whisper something to them, whatever it was made Crystal snort and Onya roll her eyes with a grin.
Lydia glanced at Suzie.
“Don’t say it,” she muttered.
Suzie blinked innocently. “Say what?”
Lydia gave her a withering look.
“That I’ve noticed you looking over there at least four times and counting?”
Suzie smiled sweetly. “Never crossed my mind.”
Lydia groaned into her sleeve.
“Look, maybe you’ll get lucky,” Suzie offered with a teasing nudge. “And get paired with me. Your dependable, emotionally stable, theater-obsessed best friend.”
“Please,” Lydia whispered. “That’s literally all I want.”
From the front of the classroom, Mr. Kressely clapped his hands like a magician announcing his next trick.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone who doesn’t fit neatly into either of those boxes, welcome back,” he said, brushing chalk dust off his sleeve. “Today’s the big day. Pairings. Projects. Potential emotional trauma.”
There were a few sarcastic cheers. Someone groaned. A paper airplane flopped sadly to the floor from the direction of the football players.
“Now, I know what you’re all thinking,” Mr. Kressely said, pacing slowly. “Will he pair me with my best friend? With someone brilliant and organized? Or will I suffer, yet again, at the hands of the cursed gods of group work?”
More groans. One girl made the sign of the cross.
“I did this randomly,” Mr. Kressely said, holding up a clipboard with a list of names clipped to it. “And by randomly, I mean I spent the better part of yesterday during my lunch break arranging you in pairs based on what I think will either create genius... or chaos. Possibly both.”
Suzie’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Lydia, who had gone disturbingly still, muttered, “Neither do I.”
Mr. Kressely turned and grabbed a piece of chalk. “Before I announce partners, a few reminders: this is a deep-dive project. Don’t just Google the first obscure battle or forgotten inventor you find. Think beyond the textbook. Consider human stories. Resistance movements. Cultural shifts. Things lost to time.”
Suzie’s fingers drummed excitedly against her notebook. “Can we do 1930s labor unions?”
“You can propose 1930s labor unions,” Mr. Kressely said without turning. “Just wait until I’ve given you your partners.”
Lydia glanced at her, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.
She wanted that. That buzz of excitement. That safe bubble where she could breathe and focus and not-
“Alright,” Mr. Kressely said, slapping the clipboard once with dramatic flair. “Here we go. Partner assignments. I’ll read them out, you’ll group up, and you’ll have the last half of class to brainstorm topics. Everyone ready?”
A few resigned nods. Some groans. Lydia’s heart thumped like a slow drum in her chest. Her fingers were cold. Her breath felt tight.
She turned slightly in her seat, caught Suzie’s eye, and tried to read the mood.
Suzie smiled, wide and hopeful.
“Manifesting,” she whispered, crossing her fingers.
Lydia nodded slowly.
But somewhere deep in her gut, she had the strangest feeling.
Like a hand hovering over a switch. Like the moment before lightning strikes. Like the universe, just this once, was not on her side.
Mr. Kressely cleared his throat and started to read the list.
The room held its breath.
Before she could stop herself, her eyes flicked to the front row, and met Kori King’s.
Bright and amused. Steady. Curious.
And Lydia just knew. She knew, even before Kressely even said the names.